


The colours in your eyes.

by Oh_well_Em_writes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), thiam - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon + Soulmates, Countdown, F/M, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, Soulmates, Soulmates AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-03 21:12:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15827034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oh_well_Em_writes/pseuds/Oh_well_Em_writes
Summary: A countdown on the wrist, multicoloured numbers that go down day after day. The typical, the universal, the usual. The comforting feeling Liam gets by watching it at night.Until it's gone, and his life falls apart.





	The colours in your eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to follow canon the best I could, and yeah, hope you enjoy it! ♥️

That clock on his wrist has never truly made sense to him, it was mostly here to keep him hoping that someone out there was made for him, that one day they’ll bump into each other and Liam’s miserable life with his idiotic problems will suddenly make sense and be filled with happiness. Or that at least he’d have someone, maybe as troublesome and broken and bruised as he is, someone there to understand, to help balance him out, to be a perfect match, making life complete in a way no one ever could. Because that’s what soulmates are; the perfect match.

  
He’s always liked watching it even if it didn’t make much sense, always liked watching the numbers change as the seconds ticked by. When he was younger, he used to watch it every time he could, stare in awe at the colourful numbers that seemed alive under his skin, always changing. It was all so fascinating, a mystery in itself, even though every single person around him had those numbers, some to zero, some a number still so high it was giving Liam vertigo looking at it for too long.

  
When they were younger, until middle school, most of the kids talked about it, showed their mark around, compared theirs to each other and laughed and dreamt about it. It was something Liam loved to do.

  
And then they grew up, and realised many adults and elderly hadn’t met their soulmates yet. It wasn’t something people shared anymore, wasn’t something they all dreamt about even though Liam is still sure everyone keeps an hope, not matter how little, hidden from the world in a little corner of their heart.  Sometimes almost invisible, but there nonetheless.

  
Some people don’t wait for their soulmates to settle down and start a new life. Because soulmates are not always romantic, and even if they were, they could very well meet them when they’re eighty and about to give their last breath. Some don’t wait, and Liam thinks that maybe they’re not so wrong.

  
Liam just wishes his mother’s situation didn’t make him feel like it was something dangerous to do. His biological parents knew they were not each other’s soulmates, both their numbers still counting as they said yes in front of the altar, his mother’s number higher than his dad’s.

  
In the end, he had left. Left Jenna and Liam alone, his mother with a broken heart and a very young son, leaving at the arm of his true soulmate. He’d left with barely a goodbye, and nothing of an apology and Liam was too young to remember it, but for a long time, the sad creases on his mother’s face, always present, some days more visible than others, always reminded Liam of how much she’d been hurt, how deep the trace his dad has left was a permanent wound that had too much trouble being mended.

  
Until jenna met David, the only man Liam called dad, and was proud to do so. The only man to bring back his mother’s most beautiful smile. Liam was so thankful for him. For them.

  
In moments when he would walk in the kitchen, and watch them interact – his mother cooking eggs, his dad making coffee, playfully passing behind her and nudging her gently with his shoulder, kissing the skin of her shoulder when she’d drink the dark liquid, making her giggle. In moments like that, he was thankful for soulmates, and the countdown on his wrist would suddenly itch slightly, as if to bring attention to it, ask Liam to look, to hope.

  
And he hoped.

  
He’s just grown used to it, aware that the numbers could sometimes speed up or slow down, but his were mostly regular. Changing every minute. The still long number under his skin telling him he has time. He’s grown used to it, so during the day, unless there’s a particular sensation on his left wrist, he doesn’t check.

  
He doesn’t check, but at night he always does. He’s gotten the habit to fall asleep staring at the numbers, that were glowing in the dark, almost illuminating the darkness of his room with multicoloured shadows. He would imagine a life with his soulmate, a life where his IED wasn’t so bad, a life where his werewolf powers weren’t a problem, where he would wake up with warmth next to him, or have a reassuring hand on his shoulder when he needs it the most. He would imagine someone there, complementing him so perfectly that it would almost feel like a dream – one Liam has had one too many time while awake, in the secrecy of his room.

  
Tonight should have been one of those nights. One where he was staring at his wrist, watching the colours change as the number was getting smaller and smaller. He was tired, so tired of fighting once again, of a new creature being in town and attempting to steal Scott’s power and endangering the pack and the whole town. There was an uneasy feeling in his stomach, telling him that worse was yet to come, worse was yet to happen.

  
Tonight should have been the same as the other nights. That little ritual he’s made for himself, by himself, the colours calming his nerves, whispering him promises of a better life, even if in the present everything was falling apart.

  
But as he settles in bed, the lights all off, his eyes can’t seem to focus on the usual bright colours. His eyes don’t catch sight of anything other than the very blurry edge of his arm held above his face.

  
Liam has fought battles before, has been wounded, has seen other die and get hurt, has mourned, and cried, and healed, but he’s never been in such a deep panic.

  
His hands shake so much as he reaches for the light on his beside table that he barely manages to turn it on, and when he does, the air seem to have been knocked out of his lungs. No colours, no countdown, only tears welling up in his eyes making it hard for him to focus on the now dark numbers.

  
235679\. Dark, almost looking completely black, if it didn’t look so faded, so dead.

  
Dead. The first thought that comes to his head. His soulmate is dead. But this can’t be it. If this happens, the countdown doesn’t freeze, it simply goes to zero at the speed of light, under the gaze of the owner, watching the colourful numbers change so fast they’re almost unrecognisable. Until the zero, the number so awaited and dreaded. A zero, in the colour of the eyes of your person.

  
So why are his numbers black, why are his numbers frozen? Why can’t he breathe even though he tries his best to, why is his heart breaking and why does it hurt so much?

  
He manages to get up, his legs tangling with his sheets and barely holding him up when he’s finally freed himself from their grasp, and he walks, topples, crawls towards his bedroom door. It’s late, too late for his parents to still be awake, but when he falls against their door, the sound of his head hitting the wood resonating in the silent house, he only has to raise a shaky fist to the material again and the door is opened, arms are around him, securing him, enveloping him in a bubble where the air seems to be more accessible.

  
His mother asks him what’s wrong, what’s going on, but Liam can’t answer, he barely manages to hold his wrist up so they can notice on their own, the more he thinks about it the worse it gets. He’s lost his countdown. It’s frozen and black. This has to be a nightmare.

* * *

He finally manages to calm down, rocking back and forth in his mother’s arms, his dad’s hand rubbing up and down his back in a soothing motion. The tears have stopped falling, the skin on his cheeks itches where the wetness has left salty trails, and his throat hurts.

  
They just breathe in silence, all of them too scared to say anything, his parents probably sharing eye conversation over Liam’s head, conversations of worry, of question, of knowledge, maybe, because he really hopes they know something, something that can help, some explanation, something.

* * *

When Liam has somewhat recovered from the initial shock, and that David has done all he could to find explanations, he goes to Deaton, because even though the countdowns are something everyone has, the man still knows about most of unnatural (and supernatural) phenomenons, and when something happens, he’s the first one they all think about.

  
Mason and Scott are the only ones knowing about it, for now at least, because Liam is aware something like that cannot be hidden for long. They all gather in the back room of the animal clinic, their faces grave, the tension between the four walls weighing down on Liam. He can’t help the tears from appearing behind his eyelid each time he takes a look at his wrist.

  
There’s this sick feeling in his stomach that hasn’t left since that night, and he hasn’t slept either. He feels exhausted, empty. He thinks of the events that happened between the time he last checked and the realisation something had changed, he can’t help but blame himself and feel stupid for not noticing earlier. For not having felt it.

  
He knows it’s something wrong, but what exactly is a mystery, because Deaton has examined his wrist, the numbers dark against his pale skin, and his face has been scrunched up in a frown as he’d thought. He had announced he didn’t know much about it, that he had heard it could happen, but had never witnessed it himself, as the phenomenon was something way too rare. He had then turned away, answering questions from Scott, whose voice sounded way too worried for the tension in Liam body to stop building up.

  
The big book he’s flipping the pages of has always been a blessing for Liam, and all the pack, always helping in their researches for explanations; but this time, nothing more about that in it. Even though Liam knows they should probably also search in more ‘normal’ books, as the countdowns are something everyone deals with; with their issues and their blessings.

  
Liam’s gaze is lost, his head hung low. He doesn’t want to look at anyone, he doesn’t want to see their sad, worried faces, full of pity. He doesn’t want to think about it, about anything, but his mind doesn’t listen and he replays the night before, the full moon, the storm, the lack of control, the man trying to steal Scott’s power with his weird claws, the fear running through his veins, that new guy coming along and helping, the aches in his limbs and the beating of his heart.

  
He had then come back home and it had happened; it had come crashing down on him. Nothing more, nothing standing out, nothing, nothing, nothing.

  
He can’t even begin to understand what could have caused it, he hadn’t been directly attacked by some kind of unknown creature. Hadn’t felt anything special that day. And it kills him, because not only was his countdown gone, but he didn’t know why. He hates the mystery behind it all. He hates everything about that situation, and so much more the numbness he feels. He can’t even get angry. What an irony, for a werewolf with anger issues.

* * *

He realises the more days pass by, the more he misses his mark, the more he misses watching the colours at night, the more he starts to understand how important his ritual was, how it helped in times of worry. Because now Beacon Hills is a mess, chimeras, disappearances and Dread Doctors that live on different frequencies, fear and confusion spreading like wildfire, leaving him less and less time to worry about his own problem, even though it always lingers in the back of his mind. The hole the freezing of his countdown has left inside actually weighting more than any matter ever could. How can something missing be so present? Liam wonders if physics ever made sense.

  
He’s back on the state he was in when he was younger, always checking his wrist each time he can or when he’s not fighting for his life or doing researches for school or to uncover the mysteries of the new supernatural threat. But instead it brings him more despair, instead of the usual bubbly feeling he’d get when watching the colours change.

  
It saddens him, weakens him. Then he and Hayden get closer through the fights and the threats and the danger. He knows she’s not his soulmate, he knows he’s not hers, her colourful numbers reminding him so each time he sees them. He knows but he’s willing to take the risk, if she is, too. Because for now, he acts like he has no soulmate, so the choice is all hers; try out with Liam, or wait for someone else. For the person also waiting for her.

  
She helps him in the hardest times, is the hand on his shoulder who calms him down, the smile that brightens the sky. When everything falls apart, she’s there. He decides to hide his mark, because he’s tired of being reminded, her mark does it enough already, everyone’s mark do it enough.

  
A black torn fabric, from a t-shirt he’ll never get to wear anymore, claws marking it forever, tied tight around his wrist. A black fabric, that he barely takes away, even during the showers. A piece of fabric in a colour probably too close to the colour of the unmoving numbers that it hides.

  
Deaton and the others still can’t find any explanation for his numbers to stop, and even though he still has this hope at the back of his mind, he tells himself it doesn’t matter, he gets used to it. From time to time, he catches his mother cast glances at his wrist, he ignores it. He knows she’s just worried, with her beautiful dark brown zero inked in her pale skin, somehow reflecting David’s clear blue one on his dark skin.

  
Hayden is here. He has someone there, soulmate or not. Until she’s taken away from him at the loneliest time he’s ever had, when he would need her the most.

  
It messes with his head to have her gone, to know he won’t see her ever again, to know she took her last breath in his arms. It brings back the emptiness he’s felt after the loss of his countdown, brings it back full force, along with all the feelings that something is wrong, that now he’ll have no other opportunity to be happy.

  
And somehow, life seems to joke with him, when she’s brought back, their relationship being harder, different. The skin behind his wrist tingles, itches, but he doesn’t look, his brain just wants to draw attention to it, as if seeing hers wasn’t enough of a reminder. And he has to fight, worst things he could have ever imagined, dread doctors, the Beast, with chimeras that are not enemies nor allies, everything being a confused blur, far too red not to resemble the reality of all the blood that has been shed and all the lives that have been lost… Liam hates it.

* * *

But it gets both better and worse, better for Beacon Hills, because the threats seem to all disappear at the same time, and worse, because for a while, nothing happens, everything feels quiet, too quiet, maybe, after everything that has happened, everything that has exploded and shattered. Liam almost fools himself into thinking that he can feel safe, that maybe nothing else will ever happen, that he won’t ever have to fight again, that he won’t ever have to fear for his life and the ones of the persons he cares for.

  
But then come the Ghost Riders, who have no control, who have no other motives than take whom has seen them. The Ghost Riders, who just come and go, but this time somehow stay. And everyone is terrified, and the pack needs to come up with a plan, quickly, to save the day once again.

  
Liam thinks and thinks, and thanks to all their brain connected, they know it all revolves around lightning, and electricity. Liam thinks and thinks, of how they would manage to find that much electricity to attract lightning. Liam thinks and thinks, of how to bring back someone who has that power – no matter how bad it sounds, no matter of what the person did, no matter, no matter.

  
And so it goes, in the hurry of everything, underneath the strip of fabric tied around his wrist to hide faded numbers from the world and from his own sight, something tingles, something shines, but Liam doesn’t pay attention. He springs into action, finding the sword to open the door to the underworld, to bring back someone no one thinks deserves it. He springs into action without his alpha knowing, and so much less agreeing if he had known.

  
He finds Kira’s mother, the sword that has been used to open the ground before, the one that can do it again. Everyone doubts; everyone that knows, at least. Even Hayden, who is being supportive, but Liam knows there’s this uncertainty behind it all. Even himself, but he knows his decision has been made, that he can’t back up because it’s their only chance. He feels it in his bones.

  
“Everything that will happen, will be your responsibility.” and Liam doesn’t know why it rings so loud. He doesn’t know if there is a hidden meaning that lays behind the words, and he doesn’t know why he feels like there is, in the first place.

  
Responsibility.

  
But then he decides to silence his thoughts, his hands starting to shake, his heart growing louder.

  
The sword is in the ground, loud thunder resonates, the ground crumbles, blue light spills out. He doesn’t hear a sound, doesn’t hear Hayden call his name to stop him.  Liam’s heart is beating so fast it aches. He doesn’t know why, he isn’t sure it’s fear, he isn’t sure it’s anticipation, he isn’t sure it’s uncertainty, even though he feels all of that.

  
He barely gets time to think about how crazy it feels, how important and huge it feels, how life changing. The biggest decision he’s ever taken, the biggest thing he’s ever done.

  
Time stops, the ground opens, a hand full of claws springs out, followed by a body. Fangs, eyes closed, then slowly opening and glowing. Time is still for a moment. All Liam can do is stare at the figure in front of him, in awe, in wonder, in fear, his heart beating with adrenaline. He almost doesn’t get time, time that doesn’t seem to exist anymore, to take in the man in front of him that he’s moved, faster than time, faster than the lightning they’re seeking him for.

  
And then Liam is pinned to the wall behind him, strong forearm pressing against his throat. Green, grey, yellow, blue eyes, Liam doesn’t know, stare into his. They burn fire. He feels like he sees them for the first time, and he suddenly feels the blood rush into his veins, feels every crazy thump of his heart, hears every whisper in his head. Everything seems clearer. Both faster, and slowing down, and Liam doesn’t understand it at all.

  
“Where’s my sister?” a hoarse voice asks, close to his face, the breath caressing his open lips. Shivers run down his whole body.

  
He’s holding the sword up, his other hand going up as well to try to loosen the grip that the boy has on him, and he sees it. The dark fabric around his wrist has slid off a bit, revealing a number.

  
A beautiful zero whose colour seem to change still, glittering, like the surface of the water under the sunlight. A perfectly oval zero, coloured in a mix of green, grey, yellow, blue, Liam doesn’t know.

  
And when he looks up again, he’s met with a confused, frozen face. A gaze that goes right through him, eyes green, grey, yellow, blue, Liam doesn’t know.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think in the comments, and if you noticed any error, don't hesitate to let me know! Constructive criticism is welcome, and so are kudos! 
> 
> Thank you for reading. xx


End file.
